


insomnia

by littlemiss_m



Series: Whumptober 2018 [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon Compliant, Post Fall of Insomnia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 14:20:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16176842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemiss_m/pseuds/littlemiss_m
Summary: A full week has passed since the fall of Insomnia, and the boys are all grieving in their own ways -- with the expection of Prompto, who continues to pretend there's nothing wrong in his life at all. Ignis decides enough is enough and finds out what's really going on in Prompto's head.





	insomnia

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Whumptober Day 3, Insomnia.
> 
> (I'm about 100% sure this is the first time I've ever acknowledged canon as is in my works lmao.)

When Ignis finally slid the meticuously cubed mirepoix into a plastic bowl, he was startled to realize just how much time he'd passed doing the prepwork for their next dinner. He looked around the campsite almost owlishly, but no matter how he searched, he could only locate Gladio and Noctis.

Though a full week had passed since the news over Insomnia's fall first broke out, the shock of the relevation still hung around the camp like a thick morning fog. While Ignis' own grief presented itself as moments of disorientation – absences he could simply ignore until his mouth no longer tasted of blood – the others were reacting in their own ways. Gladio sat slouched in chair, alternated between staring at his novel and obsessing over Iris' wellbeing, between quiet and anger hot as the last embers of their firepit. Noctis, on the other hand – he'd simply shut down after the initial spike of grief and rage following the sight of Imperial machinery heading towards Insomnia.

However, whereas the three of them tried – and failed, for the most part – to deal with their losses, Prompto continued to act as if nothing was wrong. Or rather, as if there was nothing wrong with him specifically; he'd taken on the role of the emotional support in their little group, but would not for a split-second indicate his own grief. It was classic Prompto, Ignis knew, and he'd for _years_ doubted whether or not Mr. and Mrs. Argentum even existed, but still – sighing in the tired kind of despair that sat settled into his very bones these days, Ignis set his knives down.

”Has Prompto been gone for long?” he asked. Gladio twitched – surprised, annoyed, who knew – and looked around the camp, apparently just as long as Ignis felt. Noctis hardly reacted at all.

”He went to the stream,” the prince murmured from where he lay in their tent. ”Hasn't been gone that long yet.”

Resisting the urge to sigh, Ignis punched at the bridge of his nose instead. ”Right,” he murmured, more to himself than the others, then – ”I'll go see where he has gone.” His words were met with silence and he slipped out of the haven, let his feet guide him towards the small stream cutting through the forest not a minute's walk from the camp. Though the sun was still high in the sky, Ignis kept his eyes on his surroundings.

He found Prompto sitting on a rock by the stream, head hung low between his knees. The sight was a far cry from his usual optimism – not cheer, not anymore – and Ignis sighed as he stepped into the small clearing. ”Hello, Prompto.”

At the sound of Ignis' greeting, Prompto tensed, his head shooting up. He hadn't been crying, Ignis was relieved to notice, but he still looked far sadder than Ignis had ever seen him before. ”Iggy!” the blond gasped, swiping a hand across his face. ”Did I miss dinner? Is it that late already? Gosh, I'm sorry–”

As soon as he'd spotted Ignis, his expression has twisted back to the shaky smile he wore these days, and Ignis found himself frowning. ”Are you alright?” he asked, then spotting the phone held loosely in Prompto's hands, he shook his head and added, ”Did you manage to contact your parents yet?”

For a moment, Prompto hesisted, but once Ignis sat down next to him, he sighed and finally let all pretenses drop. ”Dad's been trying to call me,” he admitted, twiddling with the phone. ”They weren't in Insomnia, so I guess they don't know I made it to the 'Guard, and I just – I don't know what I'm allowed to say to them.”

Ignis nodded. ”Well, you certainly ought to let them know you're alive,” he said. ”Where are they, then, if you do not mind me asking?”

”Altissia, I guess,” Prompto answered, shrugging. ”Haven't really – haven't really seen them in a few years, now.”

Ignis had doubted as much and so he said nothing about the admission, simply dipped his chin in thought while wathing Prompto from the corner of his eye. Though he had learned, over the years, that Prompto still loved his parents – _why_ was the part he couldn't understand – Ignis felt that this was something else altogether, that the open grief in Prompto's half-lidded eyes didn't match the hopeful tone of his words when he mentioned the phonecalls from his father.

”Is there something else bothering you?” he asked, eventually, speaking carefully chosen words in fear of accidentally poking too far. ”I'll have to admit, I have been a little worried lately...”

He trailed off. Next to him, Prompto shrugged. ”Well, yeah, what with the world more or less falling apart on us...”

Ignis hummed. ”Pardon me for intruding, but you don't seem too upset over that.”

If Prompto thought his words cruel, he didn't show it. Instead he laughed bitterly and turned to face Ignis. ”I'm not the one who lost everything, Iggy,” he spoke, almost pleading. ”Everything I had a week ago, I still have now. I mean – what right do I have to be grieving when the three of you just lost – everything, really? C'mon, Igs, I can't just–”

”Perhaps you should,” Ignis toned in, suddenly seeing the whole picture. The loss of his beloved uncle was a constant tickle at the back of his throat, a lump he could barely swallow past, but – he was not so shallow as to think himself the only one who hurt. Prompto's word lit a spark of rage in Ignis' chest, one he fought to surpress; for _years_ he had tried to goad Prompto into accepting his own emotions, including the negative ones, and yet–!

A moment of silent passed between them as Ignis fought to control his sudden range – so much stronger, now, with the grief already chipping away at his heart – but before he succeeded, he heard the first sniffle coming from Prompto.

”It's just so dumb,” the blond murmured, head hung low and hidden by the cascade of his product-free hair, ”I mean – I really didn't lose anything, you know? I meant it when I said I still got everything I had with me.”

Ignis pinched his lips together, unsure if he should feel pleased over the words or not, but before he could speak, Prompto was already continuing. ”I just... I keep on thinking about the city, yeah? Like the old granny who lives across the hallway from me, if she's okay or not. And the playground by the building, the one I used to watch from my kitchen window, where the daycare center took the little kids out to play and – it's shit like that, yeah? I'm just – so fucking sad and I don't understand why because I had nothing, nothing in that stupid fucking city but still–”

Almost as sudden as he'd started, Prompto stopped. His face twisted into the pained grimace preceding a wave of sobs and soon enough there were tears on his face, hot and fat and almost sparkly under the sunlight.

Ignis lifted his arm over Prompto's shoulders and pulled him into an embrace. ”You lost your home, Prompto,” he spoke, crooning into the soft hair under his chin. ”That's not _nothing_. You may not have lost any family members or close friends, but you lost _something_ , and – that is _not nothing_ , Prompto. You have just as much rights to be grieving as Noctis, Gladio, and I do.”

Prompto's sobs increased and before Ignis was even finished what he had to say, he found himself blinking back tears of his own. The peace talks alone had been enough to hint at things going awry in the future, but _never_ – not even in the worst of his dreams – had Ignis envisioned something like this, the king and his Council dead, Insomnia grumbling under Imperial forces. Less than a month had passed since the day they left the Citadel steps behind, driving off to the literary sunset, but so much had happened since then that Ignis felt like the carpet had been pulled out from underneath his feet.

All around them, they were surrounded by the most perfect summer's day of all. Sunshine bathed them in warmth, cast glittering spots of light on the stream, but still – as he hold onto a crying Prompto, shedding tears of his own, Ignis feared that nothing would ever be okay again.


End file.
